Brush the Cobwebs Out of the Sky
by shloonktapooxis
Summary: Excrepts of Tom Riddle's journal. Eight short chapters, basically a ficclet i suppose, or even shorter than that...
1. One

**_A/N:_** I wrote this for a HP contest, I didn't want to simply put all of my entries to waste, since they took a little time, so I'm just posting the bits of them to see how others think I did. This entry was fairly long, so I decided to just make little chapters out of it. Something that shouldn't be too stressful to read or keep a track of, just a little side story. The topic for this entry had been writing about an adult's childhood in Harry Potter, and it couldn't be the marauders, since everyone tends to write about their childhood's. They gave a list; I picked Tom here...better than Umbridge I would say!

Jasmine, the flower that I treasured, because for some reason it reminded me so much of a different place. Any place but where I spent restless nights and the mixtures of dying emotions. I can openly say as I write this now, that there is only one place I dream to treasure. One place I find total release in, a place other peers may as well call Hell. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is where I am now, where I sit now, alone in the darkness of a dream.

The white petal of the flower that blooms beautifully in the darkest of places falls to the ground. It reminds me of something my mind can not comprehend; the innocence of it is enough to despise it. Innocence, no creature possessed this. They say they do, even the tenderness of a child, but no man on earth would ever understand what it truly could become.

My days were well spent here in this release from a nightmare. I had friends; I had things I'd never dreamed of having before. I had a life with meaning hidden inside of it. I could sweetly recall the moments of my bliss over and over again in my head. One of my happiest moments on this filthy planet.

Upon the wooden stool I had sat, in front of an assembly of students. It seemed forever that I was under the Sorting Hat, I grew weary of it eventually. Moments were spent in complete and utter silence, in which I could almost feel that every house held there breaths. In those few moments of confusion I found the word that I had known well to usher from the hat's wise ways: Slytherin.

I was Slytherin, a proud one at that, one who understood what it meant, the serpent on the crest, the hidden depths of what immense power I could hold. Grumbles in the night from other boys trying to get rest met my careful ears, and I merely glared back, though I was aware none could see. With one last look at this journal, I am forced to turn out the light by blowing out the faint candle glow that warmed me. Forced to surrender myself back into the depths of my brilliant mind, of what I feel may be the dawn of a new day. A new power.

Tom Riddle

December 20th


	2. Two

My childhood was always full of the bleakest of memories, being alone on holidays, being alone everyday. There had been nothing that I had come to know as truly mine; days were spent merely wondering. Wondering about things in my past, wondering about the unknown. When my letter and admission to Hogwarts had finally come to me, it was like I had finally awoken from the nightmare...

But each summer I was sent back to that nightmare, and each time I always returned back to the dream. It went on an on, endlessly, it was almost intolerable. I could not stay in the dream; I could not stay even if I pleaded on my very knees. My heart, I can feel it inside of me as it grows darker, always in the shadow. As I slowly rise to my full strengths, as I finally realize the powers that I could possess.

I keep waiting, waiting for an opportune moment to show my power. Whether it be discarding of the weak or praising for the powerful. There are so many who are weak here in my dreamland. I can't decide how to rid them of my world, how to make them vanish. There is one in particular that I can not stand at all, could never stand. Hagrid I believe it is. A large boy, a half-breed. It sickness me that he is allowed to walk among us, the wizards, the cunning and the strong.

Today he broke a mirror we were supposed to be transforming into a bat today in Transfigurations. I took the opportunity to tell him exactly how I felt. That he could never amount to anything more than a half-witted half-breed now with seven years of bad luck to top it off. The teacher never heard, never silenced me at all. The rest of the class mocked him with smart wit as he was handed a large black feather instead of a mirror to transform instead.

The weakness in this world...it bitters me most surprisingly.

Tom Riddle

December 21st


End file.
